


Into the Multiverse

by breakneckbetty



Category: Midnight Poppy Land (Webcomic)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:40:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27321340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breakneckbetty/pseuds/breakneckbetty
Summary: In a world of infinite possibilities, love will always find a way.All credit to Lilydusk and her impeccable writing- Main characters and settings belong to her.
Relationships: Tora/Poppy Wilkes
Comments: 9
Kudos: 35





	Into the Multiverse

The playlist is hot and I’m thinking of a story. I’ll share it if you care to hear, but I’ll warn you- you may get a toothache.

I see a day on the brink of possibilities, the air is already warming and the smell of the ocean is just kissing the currents. Shops are putting up their sandwich boards and flipping their signs for the opening weekend of the season and four beauties are at the start of the strip, tying their skates. Every year since they were 8 years old they have met at this exact spot on opening weekend just before things get hot and heavy with crowds of out of towners. Today, years of memories are passing through their thoughts as they each put on their headphones and hold hands. Thoughts of good times and bad, thoughts of scraped knees and summer loves, exciting firsts and sad ones, too. So many saltwater taffies, so many fizzy lemonades, so many cute boys to flirt with. Danny nods her head and the girls hit play on their playlists as they push off.

These girls are glowing with the gorgeous light of youth, just past 18 and bouncy in all the right places and they are feeling the full primal power of their immortal sexiness. This morning, they own this strip- even if its for the last time before they all head off for college. 

Dene, Danny and Belle are weaving around parked cars and jumping curbs ahead of Poppy, waving to the locals. She is watching her friends and feeling all the love well up in her heart for them. They are goddesses and she is happy to know them. They are real and they are her tribe even if she is the nerd of the gang. She smiles- their favorite song just came up in the loop and she closes her eyes for a moment as she embraces the bittersweet moment.

If you are in the mood for a pleasant stroll, just past the shops you will find the historic town square. Most weekends there is something fun happening and opening weekend is no exception. This weekend, there is a car show. Hot rods and street cruisers are backing into parking spots and proud owners are polishing any flecks of dust from their prized possessions. In front of the ice cream shop you can see a souped-up Camaro with a group of young men hovering around an open hood. There is a lot of face rubbing and muttering going on. 

Dene and Danny have reached the ice cream shop and stop to wait for the rest. The best suckers in town are inside and the girls will get one for the road before swinging around the square and heading back up the strip. Dene is practicing her footwork as they wait. 

Like a game of telephone, one by one the young men push each other into attention at the eye candy before them. Under the hood of the Camaro, one of the young men is shoulder deep next to the engine block, trying to tighten an elusive bolt. He’s almost got the damn thing but loses his grip when a body is shoved solidly into him. The wrench slips and a cursing stumble causes an entire toolbox to slip from the edge of the frame. 

It’s the juncture of a rolling screwdriver and The Cardigan’s Lovefool that land Poppy on her ass. 

Boys are rushing forward, girls are skating forward- chaos everywhere. The girls are not having this insult to their gang and these rude boys are going to hear it. The boys are not having this scolding, nobody brought their momma to this shindig. The insulted party is temporarily forgotten.

Poppy is pushing up to her knees, rubbing her hip and hoping she’s not going to have a bruise when warm hands wrap around her elbows and lift. She is caught off guard by the smoothness of her ascent. This guy is really strong, she’s thinking as she is set to rights on her skates. This guy is really tall, she thinks as she comes eye level with a broad chest. Poppy isn’t sure why she’s nervous to look up, but there is a definite intensity settling around her that she doesn’t know what to do with. She makes herself raise her eyes…

Its here that the world swirls and goes hazy. Give me a moment as I pick for the thread- 

Ah, I’ve found it.  
I see a pretty little café with quaint tables and chairs outside. The day is slipping into evening and the light is perfectly, romantically beautiful. There are a few other seated couples, chatting softly to themselves as attentive waiters deliver delicious enticements for their enjoyment. Poppy smiles tightly at her own disapproving waiter and requests a coffee. She discretely scratches under her cloche hat, adjusting the pull of a wayward curl. After fifteen minutes, she is still alone. She decides that once she finishes her drink she will leave. A girl has to have boundaries, even if he is a handsome devil.  
I must leave our new friend Poppy for a moment, apologies dear girl. There is a commotion down the street. A black Ford Coupe is barreling around a corner into an alley, leaning precariously into the turn and saved only by the practiced downward pull of the four men desperately standing on the sideboards of the car. There is an unexpected rollup door at the end of the alley, opened for the hurtling car. It’s a matter of several erratic heartbeats for the car to enter and the door to close before the whine of police sirens is heard on the street.  
The next few minutes are a flurry of activity as men jump from the car and begin to haul boxes of clinking bottles from the boot of the trunk. Boxes are handed from man to man and stashed behind a false wall on one side of the room as guns are passed through to a similar setup on the other side. A second flurry of activity surrounds the car as tires are removed. The driver and front seat passenger pull themselves from the car before an old canvas is thrown over it. 

We can see these men clearly now, one dark and one light, both impossibly tall, both impossibly handsome. Our dark racketeer is running toward the small window near the rollup door. There is a crusty muslin curtain, and he moves it slightly to peer down the alley. The entire room stills, every breath is held as they watch this man for a sign. He listens and watches, but nothing comes. He lifts his hand- all clear. 

There is a door leading away from this place, it runs through a butcher’s shop and into a haberdashery. As men filter through the door in staggered groups, our dynamic duo hang back.

“Tora, you are late. Here, fix your jacket and tie. Good and your hair, its ruffled, lets just… yes, good.” Our fair-haired new friend’s fussing is not overly welcomed. 

“Quince, I’ve got it, I’ve got it.” 

And now we see our raven haired Tora sprinting for the door, long strides punishing his Italian leather oxfords until he can just see the outline of the sign for the café. Its here we see him pull up and take a few deep breaths, calming his heartbeat as well as his locks. He can just make her out alone at the table. She waited and he feels something a little warmer than his accelerated blood flow push through his system.

“Hello, Bobby.”  
Poppy looks up at the nickname in time to meet Tora’s golden eyes smiling at her from across the table. 

Once again I’ve been dashed, the story is spinning away and I will pull until I catch the end of the thread.  
I believe I have secured it and once again we are stumbling through the dark until we come upon the swaying lanterns of a carriage. The sharp staccato of hoof beats is the only sound we hear as the carriage makes its way down a road that is washed in moonlight. Shocked? So am I. But no time to overthink this, we are approaching a great estate and the twinkling lights in the distance look like faerie fire. If we peek inside, we will see that we are not the only ones taken aback at the setting. Two young ladies are gazing through the carriage windows like children at Yuletide all the way up the long drive until they are delivered before the grand entry. Others are alighting from extravagant carriages as well, and our young ladies can feel the excitement of the event as well-turned footmen hand them from the steps of the carriage one by one.  
Our young ladies are pulled into the flow of attendees and find themselves bustled inside, their cloaks removed and their personage presented before the receiving line and announced as Countess Erdene and Lady Poppy. Its is now that our dear girls have a moment to breathe before they enter the ballroom for the most illustrious ball of the season. For Erdene, this evening will hopefully solidify the long-awaited engagement of herself to the Duke of Kent, but for Poppy no prospects have presented themselves.  
Though this is the most sought-after invitation of the season, it is also the final one. Poppy has been the especial friend of Lady Erdene for the entirety of the season and has been formally introduced to the Ton. She has not been so fortunate as Erdene to secure a proposal in her first season out. Disappointed, but knowing now that she will hang it all up until the year rolls around again, Lady Poppy allows herself to enjoy this final event.  
The ballroom is resplendent with hundreds of candles (the expense!), a cacophony of blooms (the overwhelming aroma!), and the wonderous melody of the king’s very own orchestra and Lady Poppy is enchanted. She glides down the staircase arm and arm with her dear friend.  
“I am overcome,” Poppy sighs.  
“As am I,” Erdene agrees. “But wait, here is my Duke. I will have to abandon you for awhile my friend. Will you be fine for some time? I see that Miss Isabelle is standing near the balcony if you wish to join her.”  
“I think I will! Don’t fuss my Lady. I am well and you are most deserving of a splendid evening. I wish you much joy,” Poppy smiles at her dear friend and squeezes her hand.  
Poppy watches as Erdene is whisked away to the dance floor by her dashing fiancé to be. They are a handsome pair, to be sure and they are a joy to watch as they glide effortlessly through the steps. With a sigh, Poppy is deciding to find Lady Isabelle and take up her position with the rest of the spinsters near the refreshments.  
Not a step forward is made before Poppy is met with a dark silk waist coat. This is unexpected, no one had been there before and now she would have to make some embarrassing apology to some Earl or the other before taking herself away from the scene. But she is stopped in her tracks by a hand at her elbow. Fully confused, Poppy lifts her eyes up and up and up. She is firmly in the hand of a scoundrel.  
Lord Tora was not a person unknown to Poppy. Despite his reputation as an avowed rake, he is a darling of the Ton. Through the entire season, Poppy has been aware of his presence as he has a penchant for leaning against pillars and balustrades but never engaging with anyone outside his group of acquaintances. She has been unfortunate enough to have met eyes with him upon several occasions and has even engaged in an awkward conversation during the spring fete at the estate of the Duchess of York that still leaves her a bit flushed and confused. She is most certain he finds her wanting and looks on her as tedious. Yet here he is before her once again.  
“My apologies my Lord, I did not see you there. Please excuse me.”  
“Lady Poppy, I’d like to request your hand,” Lord Tora bows deeply before her with his eyes downcast. Poppy is startled at his request, he never dances. “My hand?”  
“For the next set,” his deep voice is unexpectedly soft, and he is looking at her from beneath lowered lashes. Poppy’s breath catches briefly, he is quite darkly and dangerously handsome and his attentions could certainly overwhelm her if she doesn’t keep her wits about her. It would do no good to her future to have an association with such a scoundrel but it would also be bad form to refuse his dance request. She nods her consent.  
The strains of previous set are fading away and Lord Tora takes Poppy’s arm to lead her forward for the next. She feels his hand gently press to her back and it gives her a flutter in her stomach that she dashes immediately. His broad chest lifts before her eyes and she looks up to meet his eyes. They were deeply golden and unfathomable as he looks back. She’s caught and doesn’t realize they have taken their first steps until they are spinning in to the first strain of the waltz. He is quite good.  
There are no missteps, and Poppy is quite impressed that one who never dances is so accomplished in the skill. She takes a moment to look about the room and notes many pairs of eyes and several whispers following the pair as they twirl around the floor. Poppy looks again at the face above hers and is again caught in the intense golden gaze. She feels suddenly light headed, not sure if it is his gaze or the dancing itself, but he seems to note her distress and moves them effortlessly toward the end of the room and the open doors to the balcony beyond.  
“Are you unwell?”  
“No, I am well just flushed. I am unused to the waltz and your strides are quite long for my shorter legs,” she teases him lightly.  
Tora takes her hand and leads her toward a stone bench and gestures for her to sit but he is not releasing her hand and Poppy feels the flutters returning. He is alarmingly handsome in the light of the moon and he is watching her face with such an intensity she cannot break away from it.  
“Lord Tora, you…”  
“Tora. Call me just that, please.”  
Poppy’s breath catches at the informality of the request and stops altogether as he lifts her palm to his lips and presses the softest of kisses against it. 

But we are once against lost to this scene and with a quickness I will grab for the thread before it disappears…  
Once more we are in the dark but a soft light is being raised from a small lantern. The room is sparsely decorated, the rice paper of the sliding walls now letting in a soft glow from the moon above to show a large, soft bed upon the tatami mat on the floor. The soft strains of samisen music drift up from the teahouse. The room is rented but on this day it is the best he could provide. He is leaving in the morning and if he does not see her one last time before he goes he will go mad.  
Tora is watching as the light rises, as Poppy moves the shade to allow him to see her. She is sitting on the floor next to the bed, her winter robe slipping softly from one shoulder. His entire being catches fire as the material sinks slowly down the gentle slope. He moves to sit on the opposite side of the bed and turns to face her across the expanse of feathered mattress. She looks into him and smiles. Without thought, he reaches forward and brings her toward him and she comes willingly, melting as he brings her into his arms. He whispers her name as if it is the most reverent of prayers and feels her shudder as he runs his hand down the silky skin of her back, pulling the robe away. She is now exposed before him and he is in pain from the beauty of her. She is more than he expected, more than he dreamed of and she is all he can see, all he can feel. The softness of her skin under his touch, under his lips, her small gasps as he nips at her neck, her shoulder and lower still until he has her writhing and utterly lost to herself. He then rises above her, removes his own robe to show the scars of his battles, the markings of his path and the heat of his lust for her and she welcomes him into herself until they are both beyond this world and wrecked from the depth of it.  
Tora curls around her spent form, throwing his robe around them to dampen the chill of the room, the lingering heat of their efforts trapped within.  
He whispers her name once more before the deepest of sleep takes him… My Poppy

And with this sleep we lose this thread only to pick it up one more- one final chord…  
The bed in the executive suite of the Princess Hotel is the most comfortable thing in the world, but Poppy is restless as the sun begins its soft shine through the curtains. Its morning and quietly she sits up in the bed, sheet tucked gently under her arms as she turns toward the sleeping man next to her. She wants a moment alone with this beautiful face before it wakes. Gently she brushes the raven locks from his eyes and smiles at the dark fringe of lashes resting against his cheeks. She sees that he looks very young in his sleep and it makes her heart skip. Without thinking, Poppy runs a finger gently along his cheek and thinks on the night before. She is lost for a moment and doesn’t see that he is watching her, doesn’t feel that the halo of light behind her and the softness of her gaze is making his heart beat a sharp staccato in his chest.  
“Good morning, Angel”


End file.
